


Dean Thinks Maybe

by dimeliora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean catches Sam with a boy at school, and he thinks maybe...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Thinks Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, it was inspired by BadBastion's gorgeous art found at http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/badbastion/51376887/25077/25077_original.jpg
> 
> If you don't it is totally not her fault.

Dean can pinpoint the exact moment that it changes.

Sam is sixteen, and he likes the school they currently have him enrolled at. Dad’s on a hunt with Caleb, and Dean’s been left behind to watch after his little brother. It’s been the last year or two that Sam has become a whole new kind of recalcitrant. He literally puts his foot down on a pretty regular basis, his eyes narrow too often, and he has problems following even the most basic of commands. There’s no compromising with him anymore, and Dean spends half his days working in a local mechanic shop, and the other half trying to get Sam to do something other than study and be a bitch.

It’s exhausting.

So the day Dean sits in the Impala for an hour beyond when Sam is supposed to arrive in the parking lot his temper is more than a little high. He ends up leaving the car and stomping his way into the school. There’s no time spent winking at the girls who are looking at him, or paying attention to the suspicious looks from teachers. Instead he heads straight for the library, and hopes that Sam will follow tradition and be there with his shaggy head buried in a book.

Instead he finds said shaggy hair tangled in some douchebag’s fingers and his face buried in said douchebag’s face. Their lips are sliding slick against each other, and from his angle Dean can see the way the guy licks into Sam’s mouth and tastes him. Sam makes a breathy noise in the back of his throat, and the guy’s hand jerks once in warning.

Dean sees red at Sam’s small whimper.

He’s got the guy’s wrist in his grip in seconds, and he twists it viciously before pulling the younger man away from Sam and slamming him into the bookshelves. There’s a shocked noise, and then Dean’s in the guy’s face and growling thickly. “Don’t you ever touch my brother again you son of-“

“Dean!” He turns his head to see if Sam is hurt, because the tone is desperate, but the look on Sam’s face is one of rage. “Stop it. Back off!”  
It takes everything he has to let go and step back. Sam grabs the other kid and leads him away, they have a passionate if quiet discussion, and then the guy storms off and Sam comes back with a face that screams a storm brewing. He walks past Dean without a word and then Dean is trailing after his fuming brother.

“Watch it.” It’s a reflex when Sam slams the Impala’s door, but the response is the most tight and epic bitchface Dean has ever seen.

“What the hell were you thinking Dean? What could possibly have made you think that was ok? That you could just walk in and manhandle-“

“He hurt you! I heard you whimper Sam! What the hell did you think I was gonna do?” He glanced over and saw a blush mixing with Sam’s anger. “Wait wasn’t he-I saw him-Sammy?”

“It’s Sam.” There’s a moment where it looks like Sam won’t be able to formulate anything else. His brother’s chest heaves and the color is still high in his cheeks. “I’m not-it’s none of your damn business Dean. I have a life beyond you. I suggest you get one too.” His brother slumps into the bench seat and crosses his arms over his narrow chest.

 

\---

 

That should be it. Sam should be pissy for a while, Dean should mock him, and eventually Sam’s anger will burn itself out. They’ll pretend they never fought, and then they’ll pretend they never said anything unpleasant. It’ll all be ok.

Except that’s not what happens.

Instead Dean finds himself thinking of that throaty little whimper. Of the lines of Sam’s long and lanky body twisting and turning towards the high school dick. He flexes his fingers at night and wonders what it would be like to twist them into Sam’s silky hair. What it would be like to touch those lines, produce those sounds, to manhandle Sam into position and taste him.

He wonders, and in the wondering he may become a little obsessed.

Sam, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice the way Dean’s eyes linger on him a little too long. If Sam sees how Dean’s eyes take in the water that drips off his bare torso when he comes out of the shower, or the way Dean lingers over him when he pins him mid-sparring session, or even the reflexive lip-licking when Sam stretches and there’s a span of smooth flesh marred only by the line of Sam’s treasure trail.

And Dean’s willing to bet there’s a treasure at the end of that line.

They’ve spent their whole lives so close that Dean breathes Sam, thinks him, and now he wants him. It’s a whole new world, and Dean’s not sure what to do about it. At first he spends his time locked in the bathroom, one hand wrapped around his cock jacking himself hard, and the other fisted against his mouth so he won’t moan out Sam’s name. At least not loud enough for Sam to hear.

Maybe there’s an increase in his teasing, maybe he gets a little rougher during training, but Dean has to hide it. Has to bury it so deep there’s no chance Sam’s tilted, multi-colored eyes will pick up on it.

When Dad comes back there’s no relief. Dean feels no guilt about it, and that’s probably something he should look into, and it doesn’t slake his thirst.

Instead there’s no longer an excuse for them to have separate rooms, and Dean spends too many nights lying awake and staring at Sam’s slack mouth and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Dean wants Sam, and Sam likes guys.

Sam likes guys.

Sometimes Dean wonders if this is just one more way to keep Sam with him. He’s lost his little brother’s adoration, and he’s lost that easy closeness they always used to have, but maybe he could keep this. He knows what he looks like. Knows that he has no trouble picking up men or women. He’s a thousand times better looking than the little son of a bitch Sam was making out with that day.

At some point it gets worse. Instead of being settled for taking bits and pieces of Sam into his fantasy time Dean starts picking up men in bars. They’re all tall, lanky, and they all have long hair. He can never get the lips or the eyes just right, and none of them have the proper moles or the sweet dimples, but they slake some of his thirst.

He takes them rough, hard, spread out in the car or bent over the sink in the bathroom. He likes to hear them whimper, likes to see the way they writhe on his dick, and he imagines that each one is his baby brother.

Maybe he has a problem.

The issue becomes that Dean’s introspective view is twisted by the constant burning need inside of him to touch Sam. To know if the reality is as good as the fantasy.

And then one night Dean forgets to lock the bathroom door. He’s had too much to drink, and that little bit of self-control he usually uses when he has Sam in the bar, the voice that warns him not to pick up any guys, has fallen silent after a few too many whiskeys. His brother, who has spent this night like every other pouring over his textbooks as Dean hustles the pool table, is standing in the entrance to the bathroom staring in shock at Dean. Dean who is buried balls-deep in the throat of a guy who looks too much like Sam for it to be a coincidence.

For a moment the only sound is the beating of his heart, and then the guy sucking his dick moans and Dean pulls back enough to give him air and then to leave him behind. Sam is still standing there, eyes wide and lips tight, but no real facial expression that Dean can put a name to.  
Then Sam spins on one heel and Dean is struggling to push his erection into his jeans and get them zipped without catching his dick in the teeth of the zipper.

He follows Sam out into the main area of the bar, drops cash for the waitress to cover their tab, and then jogs to keep up with Sam’s long stride as they both head for the car. His brother slides in without a word and sits next to Dean, face heart-stoppingly blank and terrifyingly disconnected from Dean.

There’s the sound of his harsh breathing, the rough rasp of Sam’s fingers tapping against his jeans, and then they both start talking at the same time.

“I didn’t-“

“When did-“

Dean stops and then gestures for Sam to go on.

“When did you start?” He doesn’t need to clarify. Sam knows Dean better than anyone. Sam knew the second he walked in what Dean was doing, and why, and there was no chance of hiding anything from his brother’s all-seeing gaze. In deference to that Dean knows exactly what Sam is asking even if he can’t quite guess why, and he doesn’t try to feign ignorance.

“Doesn’t matter does it? I just did.” He guns the engine and tries to get back faster. Anything to avoid the inquisition that is coming, and the inevitable explosion from Sam.

“Dean it…is this you trying to understand me, or you indulging in…” Sam trails off, and the silence is more ominous then the sound of a gun cocking. Dean pulls in front of the little house they’re renting and reaches desperately for the door handle.

“Doesn’t matter Sam. Get inside.” He feels Sam’s fingers tug the edge of his jacket, but Dean is already moving and can’t be stopped. His heart is beating so hard in his ears that he doesn’t hear how close behind him Sam is until he goes to slam the bathroom door and it rebounds off his brother’s shoe.

“Dean we have to talk about this.” The voice itself is the epitome of the face he knows Sam is making now. The one he hates more than any other. Pity mixed with stubbornness and anger. The one Sam uses when he thinks Dean is following their dad blindly because that’s what he believes he’s supposed to do.

He doesn’t turn around. Instead Dean twists the handles on the sink angrily and then washes his face briskly. “No. We don’t.”

“Dean-“ Sam falls silent when Dean raises a hand.

“It doesn’t matter what. Or when. I just do and that’s it. It doesn’t affect you.” Dean reaches for the towel and hears it slither over the bar and away from him. “Petty Sammy.” Pretty Sammy.

“Dean listen, I know that you think you-“

He spins around and grabs Sam’s bony shoulders, slams his lanky brother into the wall, and presses against him. It’s supposed to be intimidation, but Dean feels something else there too. Something dark and hot twisting in his gut. Maybe this wasn’t his best idea. When he finds words his voice comes out thick and low.

“You know I think what Sammy? What’s going on in that head of yours? Think you can see inside me and know everything?”

Sam swallows, and then defiance comes up in his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah I can.” His sharp chin raises, and Dean studies the little moles he’s wanted to lick for the last few weeks. “I know you Dean. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not really like that. You’re confused.”

Dean thinks of all the times he’s been called stupid but pretty. All the times people have pushed him aside because it seemed easier than to try and imagine a person who could know and not need to vocally share that knowledge. That’s not exactly what Sam’s saying, but it’s damn close. It fires up more of the weird rage lust he has going. “Confused ‘bout what Sammy?” His hands are moving without him, one pinning Sam effectively against the wall and the other sliding up and down Sam’s thigh in a strange pattern. His brother’s gaze flicks down towards Dean’s hand and then back up to his eyes, and Sam swallows again a little more thickly this time.

“You need to protect me, and you’re having a problem reconciling that with me being a sexually active teenager. So you’re trying to under-“ Sam’s voice dies in a choked gasp as Dean slides the hand further up, backs of his knuckles brushing the bulge in Sam’s jeans.

“Understand why you wanna get fucked Sammy? Why you wanna be ridden hard and put up wet?”

His brother’s breath hitches, and any hope Dean had of playing the whole thing off is gone. So he forges ahead, because if he’s already made this mistake there’s nothing he can do that’ll make it worse. At least that’s what he tells himself.

“Dean I-“

“You like it rough. I get it. I can be rough.” His hand cups the bulge, and he feels less arousal than he’d hoped for.

“Please-wait-“ Sam’s moving now, twisting against his hold, and Dean almost lets him go. Comes close and then thinks of the moment when he walked around that corner and saw his brother giving up his trust and love to some stranger. Giving himself up to someone other then Dean.

Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe Dean is getting things all mixed up in his head. Maybe.

Either way it’s a moot point, because they’ve passed the PNR and Dean’s going to make it worth it.

“No more waiting Sammy. I aim to show you everything you wanted to guess at.”

He uses his grip on Sam, and his brother’s apparent surprise at the words, to push him forward, and when Sam reaches out and grabs the edges of the sink to catch himself Dean flicks the button and zip on Sam’s jeans and watches them slide off the narrow hips he’s been looking at all this time. Sam’s eyes fly up to meet his in the mirror, and Dean sees the blood-thirsty grin on his own face before he reaches down and grips Sam’s cock tight.

His brother is only a little hard, but Dean’s been at this game for a long time and he knows how to handle it. Before Sam can get the wind back and start to fight him Dean twists his wrist up massages up the shaft, then runs his fingernails along the line of the mushroom head roughly. Sam lets out a low moan and then pulls forward before slamming back into Dean.

“God-wait Dean-what are you-“ Dean growls when Sam closes his eyes, and bright lust-blown hazel fly back open and land on him.

“Shut up Sam. Keep your eyes on me. I’m gonna talk now.” If possible Sam’s pupils get a little darker, a little wider, and Dean is sure that it’s a good sign. That, and the erection that’s rapidly growing in his hand.

His brother nods, swallows again, and there are tears in the corners of those beautiful eyes as he watches Dean watching him.

“I know what I’m doing here Sam. I know what I want. It’s got nothing to do with issues or being confused.”

Sam’s mouth gapes for a second as Dean gives a harsh squeeze to the base of his cock, and then slides his free hand up his brother’s taut stomach lifting the powder blue shirt and exposing more skin. There’s a noise coming out of Sam’s mouth, something between a moan and a cry, and Dean can’t get enough of it. Can’t stop taking in the tight lines of Sam’s eyes or the way those tears are still sparkling there and mixing with the droplets of sweat.

“I want you Sammy. Probably did before and didn’t realize it. Need to be under your skin the way you’re under mine.” He pinches Sam’s nipple and listens to the gasp, watches the mouth work around words that won’t come. There’s disbelief in Sam’s eyes, and Dean reads it just right.  
“I don’t care ‘bout that. Just don’t care.”

“But-bro-brothers Dean. Stop. Please.” Sam’s twisting again, and Dean gives his nipple a hard pinch and watches his brother fall in line. Watches the eyes go wide again, and the mouth go slack around a moan.

“Yeah. I’m your brother. I’m your big brother, and I got my hand on your cock. Know what? That’s probably one of the reasons this is so good.”

He twists his hand again, and then thumbs the bundle of nerves before shifting his fingers to Sam’s other nipple. “Look at us Sammy. Look at us baby boy.”

Sam’s eyes seem to refocus and take in the sight in front of him. His own flushed skin and rock hard cock wrapped in Dean’s hand, the way Dean’s eyes seem to float over his shoulder, the line of Dean’s lips next to his ear as he pushes just a little harder.

“That’s you there all exposed for me. So fucking hot like this. Gripping the sink like it’s the last thing keeping you down while I jack your cock. Look at how big you look baby, how needy, sloppy with pre-come and covered in tears and sweat.”

“Please. Please stop before-“ but it’s too late. The combination of words, of Dean’s lips pressed against Sam’s neck as he talks, and Dean’s manipulations are too much. His brother’s eyes fall half-mast, sparkling under the heavy lids as he twists in Dean’s grip and spurts over the mirror. The sounds coming out of his mouth, the look on his face, and the feel of his muscles shaking under Dean’s hands is too much. He comes in his pants, cock rubbing against Sam’s ass, and when it’s over they stand there panting harshly in time with Sam’s deflating cock in his hand and his brother pressed tightly against him.

There’s a second where Dean thinks Sam will stay like that. Will let Dean do the more fantastical things he’s fantasized about. The quiet moments where Sam lets him take care of him again. Lets him be the stronger, older brother.

Instead there’s a harsh indrawn breath, and then Sam is bolting out of his grasp and tripping over his fallen pants to flee the room.

 

\----

 

At first it seems like everything is going to stay that way. Sam makes it perfectly clear that they will not talk about it, will not acknowledge it, and that Dean will not get another chance. They’re barely in the same room together, and when they are Sam stays away from him.

Without the rush of alcohol and lust Dean starts to question everything. He wonders if maybe he pushed too much, if he mistook a teenage boy responding to physical stimulus with a secretly hidden desire, and if maybe he’s done something unforgivable. Dad comes back for a week, and in that time Sam doesn’t start a single fight. Spends as much time as he can with Dad.

Dean almost gags on his beer when Dad thanks him for getting Sam in line.

He tries to ignore it, but there’s a wounded part of him that screams every time Sam flinches away from him or stammers as if Dean is something scary.

Yeah, he’s fucked up, and now he has to fix it. That’s the plan anyway, but when he walks into the bedroom Sam gets to himself while Dad is gone he’s surprised by the sight in front of him. Sam is spread out on the bed, propped up on all fours, fingers buried in his ass and free hand jerking his cock raw.

For a long time Dean simply stares, eyes trying to take in every inch, and then Sam moans his name and Dean takes action.

He can’t even get his pants off, can’t stop long enough to consider the possible repercussions, he’s just there. Tongue burying itself in Sam as he pulls his cock out and tastes what’s on display. Later, if Sam doesn’t hate him again, Dean will mock him for the girly shriek he lets out. At the moment all he can consider is finally tasting his little brother. Finally getting there. Sam’s hand is slapping awkwardly at his head, but Dean’s tongue has told him that his brother is ready and that’s it for his big head. The little one has full sway now.

He’s on his knees, Sam mid-twist to face him, and Dean grabs Sam’s left leg and lifts it before his brother can do more than call his name again. Sam lands on his right hip hard, and the angle is awkward but Dean pushes the head of his cock against Sam’s asshole and finds it open enough to shove in. He stops halfway, breath coming out harsh and fingers too tight in Sam’s flesh as his cock is gripped in the tightest heat he’s ever experienced.

Sam is a virgin. Well, technically, not anymore, but Sam was a virgin when Dean started this. The wide-eyed shock on his brother’s face says

Sam didn’t see this coming, and Dean’s horrified to think he probably looks the same way.

In lieu of an apology he circles his hips and moves a little further in. Sam moans again, eyes falling half shut.

“Sam?” Suddenly he needs to talk. Needs to hear Sam say something different. Something other than the pleading no he got last time.

His brother doesn’t look at him. “Just do it.”

Dean can’t move now. Is frozen with his cock half-buried in Sam, who is still hard, and his hand locked on Sam’s thigh.

“I don’t want to force you.”

Sam’s eyes flutter open all the way and focus on him. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t-I didn’t-“ Dean can’t find his words. Can’t order them to make sense. “I love you.”

Wrong fucking time Winchester.

Sam pauses, hands fluttering against the sheets, and then he shifts his hips in a move that should be pointless and ends up graceful and acrobatic. Dean is fully sheathed, and there’s no air in the room.

This time it is Sam that talks.

“I don’t-“ the breath punches out of him when he shifts again, and even if Dean’s lungs won’t work his body responds just fine. Starts to thrust in time with Sam’s awkward motions. “I don’t understand why you want this. I don’t get what the deal is. But you’re-oh fuck Dean-you’re right that this is good. This is so very fucking good.”

Dean opens his mouth to talk and Sam’s muscles flutter and contract around his cock.

“You don’t get to-oh please- take it back jerk. You’re stuck with this. I’m serious. I just-fuck-I’m not gonna be another one of your flings.”

How could-he can’t even imagine a world in which that would be possible. To prove it Dean slams all the way in again and takes control.

“Never. Never Sammy. You’re mine. So beautiful. So perfect. Fucking ride my cock like a pro, but you’re not. Just mine. First one there and last one.”

Sam moans, whole body shuddering and head nodding. “First one and last. Promise. Promise Dean.”

He doesn’t get a chance to stroke Sam to completion. His brother comes saying his name, and Dean barely lasts beyond that.

When it’s over they lie there panting, and Dean keeps one possessive hand on Sam’s hip and wonders if this could get any better. If they could ever be closer than this.

He’s been so afraid of losing Sam to teenage rebellion. To the inevitable distance that must grow between two people who are undergoing so many changes. He’s spent his days internally wringing his hands and shaking at the thought of losing Sam. Their relationship has been a battlefield.

Dean can pinpoint the exact moment that it changes.


End file.
